


The Ace of Clubs

by TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [7]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: it'll be fun, let's have some story on Jordan, let's see what he thinks about when he's convinced he's going to die, lots of hints as to his past, some of them obvious and some subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Jordan knows what the godfather has ordered PJ to do, but he doesn't know what to do about it.





	The Ace of Clubs

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday, East.

_ Late November, 1923 _

The frigid winter air seemed to have leaked inside the halls of the Family’s headquarters, draining all the life and warmth from, well, everything.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was Jordan going numb from what he knew was going to happen.

The godfather had been clear on Jordan’s duties: protect PJ. Protect him from others and protect him from himself.

Jordan liked to think he’d succeeded in that. PJ was still alive, after all, and, as far as he knew, had never even had a gun pulled on him in the time he’d been venturing to Freddy’s.

The godfather had clearly not agreed.

Jordan walked the halls, looking for PJ, despite knowing the orders his friend was to receive.

It was only when he followed the sounds of Matthias and Amanda shouting, arguing, that he found PJ, standing near the couple’s closed door and frowning.

“Peej.” It was all he could do to get the nickname out, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet PJ’s eyes. “It’s your turn.”

Then, before he could see PJ’s reaction, he pushed past him and walked down the hall.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but he was definitely going somewhere. The godfather hadn’t given him any orders as to where to go, at least.

Jordan passed Yami, speaking quietly with Zombie, but didn’t bother saying anything beyond “I’m headed home, if anyone needs me,” and definitely didn’t bother staying to see if they even cared.

Their disapproving gazes still burned into him as he walked away.

Snow had begun falling between the time he’d arrived at the headquarters and now, and just enough wind was blowing around to whip the flakes into his face and hands and sting them.

Would it hurt?

Jordan almost stopped mid-step to wonder where that thought had come from, but he forced himself forward. It wouldn’t do him any good to stop. Not unless he was planning on freezing himself to death to save PJ the trouble of killing him.

He could do that.

But he didn’t want to.

That was the crux of the problem, now wasn’t it.

Jordan didn’t want to die.

Jordan climbed into his car and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, subconsciously trying to release nervous energy. 

PJ would have to kill him, though. The godfather had made that clear enough.

Maybe he could leave Boston? If he crashed his car into the river before he left, they’d have no choice but to assume he’d drowned and washed away in the current. Sure, walking out of Boston with not one, but two, mobs willing to see him dead wasn’t at all the ideal situation, but it was definitely better than being dead.

The voice in the back of his head pointed out that if he’d never left the McLaughlin Boys, he wouldn’t be in this situation. And that if he hadn’t left them on such bad terms, they wouldn’t be one of the mobs who wanted him dead.

Jordan ignored it.

He could leave, yes, but… that would leave his mother thinking he was dead too.

Just the thought of that was enough to deter him from that plan.

His mother.

Jordan gripped his steering wheel before starting to drive down the empty streets of east Boston.

He had something to do, before PJ came looking for him.

\-----

Jordan’s house was quiet as he walked in the door and down the hall to his bedroom.

That was good. He lived alone. Noise would have meant something was wrong.

Discarding his coat on the back of a chair, Jordan walked to his desk and pulled out some paper and a pen. Writing quickly—PJ couldn’t be too far behind, after all—Jordan wrote an apology to his mother. He didn’t tell her what had caused his inevitable death, in case the letter was used as evidence of some kind (if the police even bothered doing any investigation after they read it).

He just apologized for being dead.

It was a bit odd to write it, considering that he wasn’t actually dead yet, but he wasn’t going to leave her hanging.

Jordan signed it, then folded it and wrote “Mom” on the front before pulling open the desk drawer. It would be safe there, safe from investigating eyes and from any mess that happened when PJ killed him.

An old, worn letter stared up at him from the drawer, his name written in his mother’s elegant script.

Jordan swallowed and pulled it out, replacing it with the one he’d written.

He sat on his bed and ran his fingers over the old letter once again. He knew the contents by heart now, and while they never failed to cheer him up before, he doubted they would help now.

Right now, they were just a reminder.

Jordan sighed. He’d been quite young when he learned—so young, in fact, the knowledge had been with him for as long as he could remember—but he’d never doubted his mother loved him. It didn’t matter that it was just the two of them.

He’d been sixteen when he’d finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been burning through his mind for years.

She’d answered, but the answer… it had been nothing what he’d been expecting.

Jordan tapped the letter—she’d written it to him a few days later to help reassure him of a few things—then stood and took a step toward his desk.

The door down the hall opened quietly.

Jordan’s shoulders slumped, and a shaky sigh escaped him.

PJ’s footsteps were instantly recognizable as he walked up behind Jordan. How Jordan knew them by sound alone, he didn’t know.

All he knew was there was only one reason PJ would be here.

He tucked the letter in his pocket, crinkling it slightly in the process, and clasped his hands behind his back.

A long, long minute of silence.

“Jordan,” PJ’s voice shook, “can I sit down?”

Jordan looked over his shoulder in surprise, then turned when he realized just how badly PJ was shaking.

“Hey,” Jordan said, taking PJ by the arm and guiding him to the same chair he’d thrown his coat over earlier, “you okay?”

He doubted it. No matter how hard PJ had been pushing himself for the Family recently, he hadn’t been shaking.

PJ was silent for a long minute, his hair falling into his face and obscuring his eyes.

Then, “He’s dead.”

Jordan paused, then froze, then stared at PJ.

“You  _ didn’t.” _

A half-strangled laugh tore out of PJ. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Kill me.” Jordan was surprised to realize just how serious he was about that.

PJ lifted his head and gave Jordan a flat look. “I’m not killing the one person I can trust with everything.”

Jordan blinked. “But, Peej- the godfather?”

PJ’s shoulders set. “He doesn’t hold that position any more.”

Jordan sat on his bed. “Are you hurt?”

PJ shook his head. “He wasn’t strong enough to hurt me.”

“How did you kill him? Can they trace it back to you, I mean?” 

PJ shook his head again. “It’ll look like he stopped breathing by himself.”

Jordan crossed his arms, pursing his lips. “Why are you shaking?”

“Jordan, I just  _ killed _ the godfather.”

“You’ve killed before. I’ve even seen you do it. It doesn’t bother you all that much.” Jordan shrugged slightly. “So what’s up?”

PJ slumped in the chair, but didn’t answer.

Jordan let the silence stretch on, using the time to think.

It was great that he wasn’t going to die—absolutely fantastic—but the load that had just put on PJ… He was going to be running the entire Family, and he wasn’t that much older than Jordan himself. Granted, most of the leaders of the Family weren’t too much older than Jordan, seeing as most of the old ones had died in the 1919 firefight (Jordan had killed a few of them himself) and the rest had had “accidents” over the years, but still.

Jordan looked over at PJ again. He was already stretched so thin, already stressed enough about the well-being of the family. Jordan was honestly surprised PJ hadn’t gotten sick by now, with his lack of sleep and doing so much.

Goodness knew it had already taken enough of a toll on PJ’s health.

“I can’t go back to Freddy’s now, can I.”

PJ’s words were soft, quiet, broken.

Jordan’s heart dropped.

“No. Not now.”

The Family needed PJ now. He wouldn’t have the time to go to Freddy’s.

“Maybe…” PJ hesitated. “Maybe I can find time to go.”

Jordan was already shaking his head. “PJ, that’ll kill you. You just don’t have that kind of energy. Nobody does.”

PJ slumped further into the chair. “I… I don’t want to leave it behind.”

Jordan frowned. “I know.”

PJ buried his face in his hands. “It was the only place I could really be me.”

“I know.” Jordan put a hand on PJ’s shoulder. “I wish you’d just killed me instead.”

PJ shook his head. “And when the godfather died anyway? He wouldn’t have lasted longer than another week. Then I’d be here all over again, and without the person I trust the most. I can’t do that.”

Jordan sighed. “We’ll figure it out.”

PJ groaned softly before lifting his hands from his head. “What will Sophie think of me now?”

The raw heartbreak in PJ’s voice just about broke Jordan’s heart, and he winced. “Last time I checked, she wasn’t talking to you to find out about it.”

Probably not the best thing to say, but there were times when being blunt was better than being diplomatic.

Whether or not this was one of those times, Jordan didn’t know.

PJ seemed to freeze for a second, and then tears were streaming down his face. He shoved his face in his hands again, muffling the sounds of his sobs.

Jordan gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder and then flopped backwards on his bed. There were so many things that would need to be done. The godfather’s funeral would need to be planned, and that would primarily fall to PJ, though the others would help out where they could.

PJ would need to figure out his plan for what he was doing as godfather, and he needed to make sure everyone would give him their support. Not that there was much risk of someone  _ not _ giving that support, seeing as PJ was loved and had been trained for the job for well over a decade, but it never hurt.

Something might have to be done about Sophie, too, especially now that Yami knew about her. She could be in danger. She definitely would be if some of the more… headstrong… individuals in the Family got word of PJ’s love being non-Italian. Jordan would have to talk to Yami about that.

As for Jordan himself… there was no doubt that Yami had told Zombie where he’d found PJ and Jordan a few hours ago. The looks they’d given him on his way out left no alternatives. They would both know Jordan was supposed to be dead. And him showing up not as a corpse, well, that could cause problems.

Could he take them both on if it came to a fight? Yami, he was sure of. The  _ consigliere _ wasn’t a fighter.

Zombie, though… the man was tough.

No, it was better to avoid conflict if he could. The last thing he wanted was to open up high-power positions in the Family just as PJ was stepping up as the godfather. The Family would be in enough chaos and confusion as it was, no need to make it worse.

They were likely to realize the same and, no matter how much they wanted to, avoid killing him. Which was good, but it meant their anger and frustration at the situation would be free to be directed elsewhere. And the most likely target for that was Sophie.

“If we need to,” Jordan said slowly, “we’ll contact Madame Foxglove to make sure Sophie stays safe.”

PJ stiffened. “You think she’s in trouble?”

“I think she could be.” Jordan ran a hand through his hair. “I hope not, though. She seemed a nice girl.”

PJ snorted. “She’s amazing.” His shoulders slumped again. “Not that the Family will ever give her the chance to see that.”

“Well, they’ve got sticks in very uncomfortable places,” Jordan deadpanned. “Besides, it’s your love life.”

“The rules say differently, Jordan.”

“The rules also say you shouldn’t let non-Italians be a part of the Family, but,” Jordan shrugged, the letter in his pocket seeming to burn with the reminder it held, “here I am. A  _ capo  _ and everything.”

“That was also my idea,” PJ pointed out. “I don’t know how much more they’ll take.”

Jordan sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep the others off her. You do what you need to do.” He sat up and gave a pointed look to his rifle sitting in the corner. “And if you need me to take care of anyone, let me know.”

PJ followed his gaze and seemed to frown for a moment, but he nodded. “I can do that.”

Jordan grinned. “There we go. We’ll get through this together.”

Together; as they always got through life’s rough patches. And so long as PJ never found out about the possible threat Jordan’s parentage stood to him, he didn’t see that changing any time soon.


End file.
